I don’t want to carve the words,

That look beautiful without meaning to make them so,

I want to infuse my intentions into them,

Let them stink of refusal if I am refusing them,

Let them be what I want them to be,

If I don’t mean the words I write,

Let their meaning be rendered useless,

And if I do mean to write that I love her,

Oh lord, let her see the notes of music,

In the chaos of words,

Let her memories stir and her heart leap,

Between the jagged lines I write for her,

Let the ether spanning me and you,

Not be trapped in confines of expression,

Let it tremble with intentions,

That are not even conscious,

Let my poetry dig it’s own grave,

Let it decay and rot under the earth,

To serve as a humus,

For the truth about me,

And a little about you too…

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